


Heartcall

by bl4ckm4lice, jusrecht



Series: The Whims and Woes of Lord Kyuhyun [1]
Category: Korean Actor RPF, Super Junior
Genre: Edwardian AU, M/M, joonkyu, quite honestly this popped up after a belated downton abbey obsession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3931027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bl4ckm4lice/pseuds/bl4ckm4lice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The youngest son of the Marquess of Crewe, Lord Kyuhyun, is the brightest star of them all. Until a certain Sir Kijoon dims his light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  This fic is set in the Edwardian era England, inspired mostly by the drama series Downton Abbey. That said, we dispense with one little fact which was true for the era concerning homosexuality. It was regarded as a crime back then, not only a social stigma, but we won't include that detail in this fic. Let's just pretend that everyone is free to marry either the man or the woman of their choice :D  
>   
>   
> 

[ ](http://t.co/LFVeSEZOdg)

 

 

The strange yet indisputable truth, when it came to the subject of the sons and daughters of Lord and Lady Crewe, was that of all four, it happened to be their youngest son who received the most attention from Society’s many eligible bachelors.

 

This was not due to any conspicuous flaw in the two female siblings. His two sisters were a considerable success, with a train of suitors regularly paying respect and composing sonnets in their honour, not to mention competing for space in their dance cards. If some allusions had been made, once or twice, that their younger brother proved an even greater success despite his being a man, then it was owing to their good humour and generous disposition that they found amusement in these comments instead of insult.

 

Nevertheless, general opinions agreed on one point, and it was that Lord Kyuhyun possessed such extraordinary beauty that it could rob an honest man of his senses. More than a few gentlemen had been known to sigh mournfully, often regretfully, _if only he were a lady_ —and only the most jealous of souls would respond with spite.

 

These were all objects of Junsang’s meditation as he observed the hunting crowd which had gathered in front of the house from his bedroom window. His youngest son was standing at the centre of the activities, surrounded by an assemblage of young men from every description of wealth and eminence.

 

“Have you ever wondered what we did when we had him?” he murmured to his lady wife.

 

The most worthy lady gave him a look of such reproach that any other man would have been reduced to a stammering fool. “Really, husband. I hardly think it is a suitable topic of conversation, even in private.”

 

“My apologies, wife,” the marquess replied with an affectionate smile. “But truly, have you never asked yourself why? Or entertained a few guesses in moments of idleness? Kyuhyun has more suitors this hunting season than his sisters did in their debut.”

 

“I have noticed,” she said dryly.

 

“Nearly all of them come to the shooting because of our son instead of our daughters.” Junsang shook his head with a sigh. “It does make me wonder what will become of him.”

 

“He is not yet nineteen. There is plenty of time.”

 

“Indeed.” He paused, watching a smile settling across Kyuhyun’s lips. It was a gentle smile, and yet also an indifferent one. Kyuhyun might enjoy the attention, but he did not care for any of them in particular. Not yet.

 

The thought made the marquess feel slightly more cheerful. Smiling now, he bid his wife goodbye and went out to join the shooting party.

 

Little did he know that among those invited today, was a man who would soon steal his dearest son’s heart.

 

_**End Chapter 1** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little footnote in case things are a bit unclear. Junsang is the Marquess of Crewe and Kyuhyun's father. He will mostly be known as Lord Crewe. Kyuhyun, on the other hand, as a younger son of a marquess, will socially be known as Lord Kyuhyun. 
> 
> Thank you for reading ^^


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took place a year or so after the prologue.

 

There was nothing so terrible as the flux: how one could be perfectly happy at one moment and then perfectly miserable at the next.

 

Kyuhyun, to whom the most violent of feelings had remained a strictly derivative experience (mostly through his elder sisters’ romantic escapades), was caught unprepared. Such drastic changes left him completely in the mercy of his companion—who was no other than the man responsible for every stab of acute misery into his heart.

 

“I beg your pardon?” he said in a faint whisper.

 

The other man smiled. Kyuhyun remembered the first time he had seen that smile (in a sea of dozens other smiling faces, all eager for his attention); remembered the first time he had felt intrigued by that smile (the hint of amusement in it, lined by condescension, as if he was tolerating the excitement of a pack of children competing for the best prize); remembered the first time he had fallen in love with that smile (a cold evening at the end of a shooting party, and the two of them standing by the mantelpiece, trading glances and smiles instead of words).

 

He remembered each and every moment vividly, strung together like pearls of a rosary, kept close to his most secret heart. This moment should have been its crowning glory, the star-bright cross at the centre. When Sir Kijoon had asked for his company in an evening walk with the purpose of a private talk, Kyuhyun had thought his happiness soon to be complete.

 

Instead, a bolt of lightning struck and destroyed his every notion of happiness.

 

“I’m a simple man with simple words,” the older man pointed out with arched brows. “Surely you cannot mistake my meaning.”

 

Kyuhyun’s head was reeling. His entire body had gone cold and it was as if an abyss had opened under his feet and he was now walking on thin air. Denial was screaming in his ears, making the agony of a broken heart all the more painful.

 

“You, sir,” he finally managed to articulate past the terrible shaking in his voice, “asked for– no, demanded for my hand in return of your silence concerning certain… chapter in my past.”

 

A flicker of disdain crossed Kijoon’s face. “I do not find enjoyment in this conversation any more than you do,” he declared matter-of-factly.

 

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” Kyuhyun nearly spat out the words, hot, angry tears threatening behind his eyes. This could not be happening. He could not believe the rest of his life would hang upon that one careless moment in his past.

 

A slight indiscretion, a wayward child of the moment, quick and heated, full of nothing but mindless passion. He had been sixteen, a curious boy eager for everything novel and forbidden. Every young man all over the world no doubt had a similar experience, tucked in the back of their mind, away from prying eyes. The story would not have mattered much—if not for the identity of his lover and the existence of a certain document.

 

That the man in question had been (and was still) bound in matrimony was terrible enough; that to this married man Kyuhyun also happened to have written a series of epistles replete with sexual descriptions made it a hundred times worse.

 

Kijoon shrugged. “Doubt what you wish. My proposal is simply that you can stop the spreading of such malicious rumour—or the publication of a particular letter—with one word. One correct word.”

 

In the wake of despair, anger rose, swift and fierce, the furious struggle of a desperate, cornered animal. “It is to my understanding,” Kyuhyun heard himself speak, voice trembling from too much emotion, “that an honourable proposal ought to be made in a gentlemanly manner, instead of dressed in odious threats.”

 

“Perhaps,” Kijoon replied with a faint smile. “But then again, if we take into account a certain ‘chapter’ in your past, you are hardly a gentleman, aren’t you my lord?”

 

The words stung and Kyuhyun quickly looked away before his expression could betray him. The warnings from his brother rang in his ears _(that man is cruel, he is not like us, do you think he climbed so high, became so rich, by being kind and merciful? He built his empire on the bedrock of others' misfortunes, all tradesman do, so don’t play the ignorant fool, little brother_ ). How clearly each word tolled in his memory. And how true.

 

But now too late.

 

“I shall leave you now to consider my offer,” Kijoon said, and soon there were sounds of receding footsteps on grass, growing fainter with each stride. Kyuhyun did not reply; he did not even deign to glance at the man who now held his future in his hand.

 

Now left alone, Kyuhyun forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. The cold wind coming from the distant hills of Yorkshire helped to clear his mind. It did not surprise him to realise that his frenzy of emotions was nearly spent. Soon enough, cool, calm logic took over and Kyuhyun seized the chance to carefully consider his situation.

 

Such a scandal would no doubt ruin his reputation. Then again, it might not have mattered much if his reputation were the only one at stake. That it would also destroy the marriage of a man who had claim on a considerable portion of his affection was the greater risk. Sir Gunmyung was one of the kindest, warmest soul Kyuhyun had ever been privileged to know. They had met on several social occasions, the older man’s being a business associate of Lord Crewe. What had occurred later, spanning the length of of six weeks, was a lapse of judgment. He had been deeply unhappy in the first stages of his marriage, and Kyuhyun… Kyuhyun had been curious and stupid.

 

And then there were the letters. Shame ambushed him at the thought of those blasted letters. There could not be more than three or four of them, and yet all it would take to destroy his life was one. The press, he knew, would only be too glad to reap profits from such a lascivious scandal. He could almost see it before his eyes—every word, every damning passage, every explicit detail written by the foolish, immature hand of a sixteen-year-old boy, printed on the pages of newspaper to be sold at every corner and laughed at the first opportunity. He could already imagine the public's sneer, the ridicule and mocking scorn, and all the shame and misery blighting his own family.

 

And above all, he dreaded his father’s knowing, his mother’s tears, the deep disappointment of his brother and sisters. Merely the thought of their unhappiness had already plunged him into an abyss of misery, his father’s in particular. Kyuhyun had always been his darling child— _the star of my night_ , so he would call him. And to fail him so…

 

There was simply no other course for him. Kyuhyun stared blankly at the bruised sky in the west. This was a case where his decision had been made from the very beginning. He could not risk public knowledge—and most likely, Kijoon was also aware of this part of his character and decided to play upon it.

 

He found the man alone in the library, thumbing through a volume of Voltaire. Kijoon raised his eyes at Kyuhyun’s entrance but otherwise made no move to acknowledge him.

 

“I accept your terms,” Kyuhyun announced in his coldest voice, for he would never call it a proposal.

 

Kijoon rose to his feet with a soft sigh and took Kyuhyun’s trembling hand. “You have made me a very happy man, dearest one,” he murmured, kissing the back of Kyuhyun’s fingers.

 

And so it began: the first of so many lies he would have to endure for the rest of his life.

 

_**End Chapter 2** _

 


	3. Chapter 3

“I wish I knew if you were really sure about this.”

 

Kyuhyun bit his tongue to prevent any reckless word—or noise, for that matter—from escaping the tight clutch of his throat. He wanted, more than anything, to tell his father why. Why he was marrying a man who could only make him cry. Why he agreed to a lifetime of misery and anguish.

 

“You don’t even like him,” Lord Crewe said again, still puzzled. In Sir Kijoon’s presence, he had accepted news of their engagement with perfect blankness, his consent as cold as a wall of stone. Now, there were only the two of them in the library, and Kyuhyun found himself the recipient of the entire hail of his misgivings.

 

Shaken but by no means defeated, he took a deep breath to steady himself and then raised his eyes to meet his father’s gaze. “That is where you are wrong, Papa,” he said in a toneless voice. “Because I love him.”

 

And the worst part was, he was not even lying.

 

Ironically, this moment of utmost honesty was no more successful than his lies in convincing his father. Suspicion remained a terrible shadow in Lord Crewe's expression. Still, Kyuhyun knew that if he tried to offer a smile, his father would see right through him, and so he only maintained his indifferent façade and directed his gaze elsewhere.

 

A long, painful moment of silence had elapsed before Lord Crewe realised that Kyuhyun had said his final word in the matter and there was nothing he could say or do which would change his mind.

 

"My only wish is for you to be happy,” he finally said with much difficulty. “You do know that, right?"

 

"I know, Papa." Only then did Kyuhyun smile, for once overflowing with sincerity and fondness toward the older man. He even managed a soft giggle when he wrapped his arms around his father and felt the embrace awkwardly returned. After all these years of raising him, the marquess had yet to familiarise himself with Kyuhyun's affectionate ways.

 

"You can tell Sir Kijoon to come and stay with us at Rosedale next month. It should give your mother ample time to make all the necessary preparations for your engagement."

 

Kyuhyun placed a peck on the man's cheek, secretly relieved that his father could not see his faltering smile. "Thank you."

 

But it was far from the end of the day's trials, apparently; for as soon as Kyuhyun had left the library, he found himself confronted by the only person in the family who never let him charm his way out of a well-deserved scolding: his own elder brother.

 

"Not you too, Eric," Kyuhyun sighed and carried on his way upstairs. One look at his brother’s expression was enough to tell him that Eric had at least a thing or two to say about his engagement. "Have you been waiting there the whole time for Papa and I to finish?"

 

"I'd rather be prepared than letting you slip into your room unnoticed."

 

"And why would I be sneaking around my own house like a thief?"

 

"To avoid me, perhaps." Eric overtook him on the landing and caught his wrist, keeping him in place. "I see you failed to heed my warnings about Sir Kijoon."

 

Kyuhyun shook him off and continued toward his room. "You've just returned from London. Why don’t you take a good rest and cool your head down first like any sensible man before meddling with my love affair?"

 

"I have witnessed people consumed by love," Eric said darkly, towering between him and the door. "You are not one of them."

 

"And how would you know?" Kyuhyun snapped back at him. "Have you suddenly found a secret lover, one whom you don't care to share with the rest of the family? As far as we know, you have yet to show any interest to anyone."

 

Anger flashed across his brother’s face. "I'm on your side here, unlike the man you're about to marry."

 

"Sir Kijoon–"

 

“–is a man unworthy of your regard, let alone–”

 

“–and yet I will marry him, regardless of your opinion.”

 

A tense silence followed his loud declaration. The look of disbelief on Eric’s face slowly turned into stony blankness, one he had clearly learned from their father. "I see you have made up your mind,” he said in a queer, strained voice, “and there is nothing I can say that will make you change your decision. But that doesn't mean I approve of your choices." He paused and then took Kyuhyun's hand once more, gentler this time. "If those choices are indeed yours."

 

It took Kyuhyun all his self-control to keep his hand from trembling. He wasn't sure he succeeded. "What are you implying?"

 

"I don't know, I honestly don't know. Because you wouldn't say, would you?" Eric stared hard at him and Kyuhyun was reminded of a time long passed, when he had been no more than a little boy, and a much older Eric had always been around, keeping him safe. “All I know is he isn’t a good man, and I will never understand why my good brother would marry him."

 

But Eric could not keep him from harm—not this time. These choices, Kyuhyun made them. He had made them when he had flirted with a married man, and he made them now to take responsibility for his own doing. The choices were simple enough: to sacrifice himself, or to sacrifice himself and his entire family, including Eric. It was from this decision that he found the strength to summon a smile, faint as it was.

 

"I can assure you, Eric, that whatever you think is not true."

 

"Would you swear to it?"

 

"I would," he said blandly, words falling carelessly from his lips. "So give me your blessings, dear brother."

 

But Eric's gaze turned sad, and then disappointed, before he abruptly let Kyuhyun go and walked away without a word.

 

Kyuhyun didn't have to look into the mirror to know that his own expression betrayed his lie.

 

–

 

Time flew when one dreaded what was to come. Before long, weeks had passed and Kyuhyun watched from the window as relatives and friends arrived one by one, filling the halls and chambers of Rosedale. Soon, there would be curious stares and speculative whispers on everyone’s favourite topic. The subject of his bizarre marriage would take centre stage once more, on the night of his engagement party.

 

“Well, he is very rich of course.”

 

Kyuhyun stopped in mid-step, heart suddenly hammering in his chest. He was heading down, prepared to face the guests, when the whispered talks reached his ears. Talks which he obviously was not meant to hear.

 

“Still, it’s a very peculiar match,” a second voice replied, also feminine but much more animated. “The other might be a younger son, but I heard there was an inheritance waiting for him from a doting grand-aunt in America. Quite a tidy sum, all his once he turns twenty-one. Even if he does not inherit the estate, he will be far from destitute.”

 

“Really, Daphne,” the first voice reproached. “You are looking for scandals where there is none.”

 

“What scandals?”

 

Kyuhyun inhaled sharply, fingers clenching around the handrail. It was him. Kijoon stepped out of the library, a cold, contemptuous smile hovering above his lips.

 

“Oh.” One of the ladies gave a high-pitched staccato of laugh, clearly flustered. “Nothing, Sir Kijoon, nothing that will interest you. You must have thought us a pair of tiresome biddies with our tiresome talks.”

 

“Yes, I do. In fact I have never met anyone more tiresome,” he answered, indifferent to the offended looks he received in return. Unable to think of a proper response, the ladies flipped their fans open and proceeded to the drawing room to join the rest of the guests.

 

Kijoon paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up, meeting Kyuhyun’s gaze. Then he held out his hand, waiting.

 

Kyuhyun raised his chin before slowly resuming his descent. For a moment, he was tempted to ignore the hand, but the more logical part of him knew that it would only create troubles for him in the future. Gingerly, almost reluctantly, he lay his hand on Kijoon’s open palm, unable to ignore the way his heart would speed up, strength draining from his limbs, at the simple touch.

 

Even now, the man still held such a powerful spell over him.

 

“I hope the talks haven’t made you feel uncomfortable,” Kijoon broke their silence, his tone a shade too offhand to make him sound truly sincere. His grasp was firm and his hands rough, two things which had used to appeal to Kyuhyun but now only left the bitter taste of unease in his mouth.

 

“It requires more than talks to make me feel uncomfortable,” he heard himself answer coolly.

 

“Excellent.” Kijoon’s fingers tightened around his and Kyuhyun suppressed a wince. “Because this is nothing. What you will face in the coming weeks after our wedding will be much worse. But then again, anyone who stands by my side has to be able to face a storm.”

 

Kyuhyun met his challenging gaze squarely. “Are you sure you have chosen wisely then?”

 

“I don’t know.” A smirk came to Kijoon’s lips. “And to be frank, I don’t care. You will face it, and you will survive—or break down trying.”

 

Kyuhyun did not answer. He was not sure if he could, even if a witty rejoinder had been present and ready on his tongue. His composure would have failed in the third, fourth word—and he would never give this man the satisfaction of seeing him break.

 

“Raise your face.” A warning squeeze to his wrist. “And smile. You are good at pretending, aren’t you?”

 

Kyuhyun could feel his heart break for the hundredth time, but obeyed nevertheless as another pair of guests came down the stairs. After all, like Kijoon said, he was very good at pretending.

 

And so he pretended. He pretended that the beautiful engagement ring given to him by his fiancé was a heartfelt gift instead of a shackle that would bind him for eternity—and possibly also a show of wealth, as it clearly cost more than a small fortune, according to one of Kyuhyun's nosy aunts. He pretended that Kijoon's descriptions of some candidates for their country estate did not cause him anxiety as he imagined a life together with this cruel man. He also pretended to be oblivious to his father's worried gaze, his mother's concerned glances, and the mix of pride and jealousy in his sisters, him being the first in the family to settle down with a proper man.

 

But he couldn't quite pretend not to notice the empty space where his older brother should be.

 

Eric never made it to the engagement dinner. He had telephoned earlier explaining that he had an urgent matter to attend to, but even then he hadn’t felt it necessary to tell Kyuhyun the bad news himself, as the message had come from their mother instead.

 

In the end, Kyuhyun simply had to accept this: even though he bowed to Kijoon's demands in order to avoid being a disappointment to his family, to his older brother he was already one.

 

_**End Chapter 3** _

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

News of the engagement had taken the high society by storm.

 

No sooner had the London Season opened than rumours began to spread to every fashionable corner of the city. The light, feminine tattles in sunlit drawing rooms were as instrumental as the more masculine talks in gentlemen’s clubs over brandy and cigar in ensuring their circulation. Soon enough, virtually every member of the first circle of London society could claim possession of the knowledge, leaving the city abuzz with speculations.

 

_Surely these rumours are nothing but rumours, completely and utterly unfounded! (But they are not! For Lady Crewe’s sister herself had intimated the fact in her soiree two nights ago.) But surely the family could not have fallen into such dire straits so as to require themselves to seek refuge in so drastic a course. (Dire straits? What nonsense! Never has their position been more secure!) If so, why would they consider marrying their youngest son to a brazen upstart, if not for his ill-gained wealth? Surely Lord Kyuhyun, whose hand is sought by many, could summon any number of alternatives far more satisfactory with a mere flick of his fingers. (Then it must be a love match!) Surely not!_

 

It was time, the arbiter of truth, who finally dispelled mist and allowed light. There were sightings, testimonies, explanations, followed by confirmations both spoken and written. At last, rumours gained substance and ascended the throne of verity.

 

By the end of May, invitations had been dispatched and received. The wedding would take place in exactly one month.

 

 

.

 

 

“These came for you, my lord.”

 

Kyuhyun had barely finished inking the last word on his correspondence when Publae entered the library and made the announcement. A crook of his fingers admitted two footmen carrying an elegant arrangement of flowers followed by a stack of boxes, all tied with an abundance of gold-trimmed ribbons.

 

Lady Crewe abandoned her list of guests for next week’s dinner party in favour of admiring the gifts. “My, my,” she shook her head but her tone was evidently pleased, “Sir Kijoon is certainly an attentive fiancé.”

 

“Yes, I suppose he is,” Kyuhyun replied, careful to maintain the neutrality in his voice. He accepted the greeting card from Publae’s tray but laid it unread on his writing table and took up his pen once more. The flowers he gave but the most cursory glance; they arrived at least three times a week with tedious regularity—and had therefore ceased to be anything else but that: regularity.

 

Kyuhyun left his mother to exclaim over the gifts to her satisfaction and returned his attention to the particulars of Changmin’s address in India. There was certain comfort in the knowledge that each penned letter, each heartfelt word, would always reach his dearest friend and cousin regardless of the distance which now separated them. Even in his darkest moments, Kyuhyun never once doubted that he always had someone who cared, someone who would never abandon him come what may.

 

And exactly because of this, his secrecy was made all the more painful. Countless times Kyuhyun had agonised over the idea of simply unburdening himself to Changmin. In fact, there was a letter, sealed and tucked inside a locked drawer, written in a flurry of despair after receiving Changmin’s incredulous response to the news of his engagement. There, on three cramped sheets of paper, was laid bare the entire story of his shame.

 

Kyuhyun had never quite managed to gather enough courage and post the letter. Any lapse of honesty between them was, therefore, entirely his fault. It pained him to think of how poorly he had repaid Changmin’s faithful trust—but better to bear this cross in silence than risk the whole repercussions of his cousin’s knowing.

 

In a way, he was relieved that Changmin’s return had been delayed by a cold. Changmin would be able to see through his pretences at once and he would never stop until Kyuhyun confessed the entire truth. His dearest cousin was not the most patient of men, nor the most prudent, and Kyuhyun dreaded what he would do if he found out.

 

His current state was another cause of concern. Kijoon was a constant source of agony to his presence of mind and Kyuhyun lived in fear of anyone's suspecting that something was amiss, let alone Changmin. Away from his ‘betrothed’, however, he could retreat behind a carefully crafted façade and pretend. He could regain such composure inherent in his nature and convince himself resigned to his situation. Loveless marriages were not unheard of in their circles; in fact, they were somewhat of the norm. Nine out of ten couples walked down the aisle without much love on either side, and he would rather let gossips fester than allow anyone a glimpse of the true reason behind this marriage.

 

For the man he loved did not exist. He had fallen in love with an illusion.

 

“He always chooses well.” His mother’s voice broke through his miserable contemplations. Kyuhyun glanced up to see her holding out a silk scarf for her inspection. “This colour suits you.”

 

Kyuhyun acknowledged it with a faint smile, forcefully ignoring the quiet pang in his heart. He could easily imagine Kijoon instructing his secretary to make an arrangement with the best fashion houses in Paris. They would deliver their best inventions at regular intervals—scarfs, hats, pins, cufflinks—essentially every choice of accessory imaginable short of gifting his fiancé with a complete wardrobe, which would not be acceptable. It would be nothing but triviality itself for a man of his reputation and wealth.

 

“Leave them to Jonghyun, he will know what to do with them,” Kyuhyun declared, rising to his feet. “And now I have to go or I will be late.”

 

“Late?” Lady Crewe’s face expressed astonishment, her voice incredulity. “For what? Aren’t we supposed to make a decision about the wedding cake this afternoon?”

 

“Minho’s sister is hosting a luncheon party,” Kyuhyun answered with a conciliatory smile. Minho—the Honourable Minho Choi, third son of Earl Manvers—was one of his closest friends. “So unfortunately I will have to leave the decision in the perfectly capable hand of my dearest mama.”

 

“But your wedding cake!”

 

“And I’m sure my sisters would be able to offer an opinion or two, should you need it.” Kyuhyun gave her cheek a swift, placating kiss and made his escape before Lady Crewe could raise further protest. The last thing he wanted was to spend his entire afternoon in false excitement, surrounded by selections of cakes for a wedding which he neither wanted nor cared about.

 

If he must spend the rest of his life in play-pretend, then he must. For now, however, he still had a choice.

 

 

.

 

 

The luncheon was a fairly private affair. Lady Sooyoung, to Kyuhyun’s relief, was tactful enough to invite only their most intimate friends, all numbering no more than half a dozen. There was a healthy amount of excitement and curiosity about his approaching nuptial, but none which he could not deflect with ready wit and some well-employed evasion tactics.

 

The real trial was to be somewhere else entirely.

 

After luncheon, Kyuhyun and Minho took their leave and headed for St. James’s Street. If Kyuhyun were to be entirely honest, he might have avoided his club with deliberate intent, ducking behind every convenient excuse whenever a friend suggested spending some time there. The cause, however, remained rather obscure until he stepped into the entrance hall of Boodle’s and found himself the recipient of a flood of attentions.

 

“Kyuhyun!”

 

“Kyuhyun, what a delightful surprise!”

 

“You’ve been avoiding us, you devious little fox!”

 

Then one man began clapping his hands, before Kyuhyun even had his coat relieved by an attentive footman, and soon a surge of applause drowned the usual hallowed quiet of the establishment.

 

“As I feared,” he muttered under his breath.

 

“Better sooner than later,” Minho consoled him with a pat on the back, his amused grin tempered by sympathy. Kyuhyun spent the next quarter of an hour accepting an avalanche of congratulations (and more than several impromptu love declarations, now that any attempt to court him was quite hopeless), before Minho finally took pity on him and secured them a retreat to a relatively quiet corner of the smoking-room in the first floor.

 

“At least no one will be able to accuse you of leaving loose ends untied,” Minho pointed out cheerfully.

 

Kyuhyun made a face at him. His large train of male admirers had always been a subject of amusement—and exasperation, on Kyuhyun’s part—between him, Changmin, and Minho since their Eton days. He could see that it was not about to change anytime soon, engaged or not.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

Minho’s sudden question, in so different a vein, caught him off guard. Kyuhyun snapped his head up, heart beating anxiously in his chest, and met his friend’s half curious, half concerned gaze.

 

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

 

“You look…” Minho paused, brows knitted. “Distracted. And rather pale. And those dark circles under your eyes... are you sure you aren’t unwell?”

 

Kyuhyun grimaced. “You sound like Changmin.”

 

A quick grin answered his accusation. “Excellent, because those are precisely the duties assigned to yours truly by our dear mutual friend. He told me just before he left, that if even the slightest harm came to you in his absence, he would hold me entirely responsible and, in his precise words, _“you will find retribution extremely unpleasant!”_ Naturally I obey.”

 

“We both know that being dramatic is Changmin’s favourite pastime,” Kyuhyun replied dryly.

 

“And ten times worse when it comes to you.” Minho shook his head in amusement. “To be honest, I always thought that you two would end up marrying each other.”

 

Kyuhyun firmly maintained a slow, enigmatic smile on his face. “Well, you thought wrong.”

 

Minho laughed. “I can see that. After all, once love has spoken, every lesser sentiment must cede and admit defeat.” He paused, flickers of emotions chasing each other across his face. “By the way, it _is_ a love match, isn’t it?”

 

Kyuhyun froze. His heart plunged into a dangerous race and he could feel his lips tremble, his fingers clenching around each other in a desperate clutch. Surely Minho could not have guessed. Their years of friendship had probably allowed him a shadow of doubt considering the hastiness of the arrangement, but certainly nothing too definite. Nothing upon which suspicion could breed.

 

“Is there any other reason for me to marry?” Kyuhyun was glad to discover that his voice remained at its relaxed, almost indifferent altitude when he delivered his answer. “At my age and to another man no less?”

 

Uncertainty faded from Minho’s expression, quickly replaced by a surge of relief. “Then I am glad,” he admitted with a soft sigh and a warm smile, entirely trustful in the staunchness of their friendship.

 

Kyuhyun ignored the sharp pang of guilt in his chest and returned the smile, giving Minho’s cheek a gentle stroke to express his gratitude and affection. Then the business of fending off another jilted suitor claimed his attention when Jay, the Viscount Latimer, entered the room and immediately made a beeline toward him.

 

 

.

 

 

Leighton House was not a house.

 

Kyuhyun had realised this from the moment he had first set his foot in the grand foyer. It was a museum, a centrepiece, an object of admiration—and perchance envy—for guests and visitors. Clearly the reason why Kijoon had purchased the house and made it his London residence was to put its artistic splendour on display in conjunction with his name.

 

The dining room in which Kyuhyun later found himself sitting to a six-course dinner was no less enchanting. It was decorated in the Arabic style and its exotic quaintness alone was enough to fascinate even the most indifferent eye. Eleven guests were seated around the beautiful dining table, chatting cheerfully among themselves and enjoying the sumptuous feast.

 

Kyuhyun barely tasted anything placed in front of him. All he could manage was one or two bites from each dish. It felt as if every mouthful of food had turned into ash when he tried to imagine his future role in a like situation. Next year, _he_ would have to preside over this table, from his rightful place across Kijoon. He would have to talk and smile and laugh and pretend that his marriage was the most blissful union on earth.

 

Inhaling sharply, Kyuhyun pushed the ugly picture out of his mind and forcefully returned his attention to the bland monologue coming from his left. He donned a practiced smile and attended to Lord Bentham, assuring the dear old man that his seemingly non-existent appetite was due to his inclination to dance later tonight at Lady Irene’s ball and not any manifestation of ill-health. Already his task had begun, Kyuhyun reflected grimly, despite his marriage still being a month away.

 

More out of habit than true curiosity, he swept a glance down the length of the table, his mind automatically sifting through an influx of information. As a host of the dinner party, Kijoon was obviously far from perfect. He had the advantage of an excellent cook—and therefore delicious food—but his bearings left a lot to be desired. For one, he did not have a generous nature (something which Kyuhyun, in the blind fever of admiration, had previously either failed to observe or misinterpreted as charming eccentricity) and this was especially evident in his frequent use of sarcastic wit. Whenever a conversation took an awkward turn, he would invariably choose to employ sarcasm instead of a few clever words to bring it once more to safety. His civility was nearly always accompanied by a breath of impatience, or an undertone of condescension, as if the available topics of conversations were beneath his interest.

 

 _He is not one of us._  For the thousandth time, Kyuhyun remembered Eric's warning, and suffered through the bitter sting of regret it invariably brought.

 

And then there was the lack of any female relation—any relation at all, for that matter—present to help Kijoon smooth the way. It was an obvious deterrent when social occasions were concerned. Kyuhyun realised that he would be expected to fulfil the role once they were married, something for which he had been ill-prepared.

 

He remembered watching his mother at parties; how her eyes would dart from guest to guest to make sure of their comfort; how she charmed sullen visitors out of their hard shells by applying to their interest; how her array of knowledge, carefully prepared before every event, aided her easy grace to win the favour of her guests; how she conducted a series of silent but effective communication with his father and Publae, their butler, whenever a crisis arose. Those were the fruits of long practice, and now he was expected to do the same.

 

Kyuhyun's head spun. To his left, Lord Bentham still enthusiastically whispered his predictions for this year’s Derby. Kyuhyun barely managed a polite smile and a small, encouraging reply every now and then. By the time dessert was served, he had reached the end of his fortitude.

 

Yet there was still the ball to attend, half an hour from now. And tomorrow there would be more luncheons, more garden parties and dinner invitations and balls, as well as exhibitions and theatres and operas. He might have found the Season trying in previous occasions, but it was ten times worse now with such burden weighing his soul. And this, Kyuhyun realised, the icy revelation slithering down his spine, was how he would spend the rest of his life. With a mask always in place and legions of lies ready on his tongue. And there would be no hope for succour, let alone release.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

The sudden query, on the heels of such vivid imaginings, shook him to the core. Kijoon was standing next to him—far, _far_ too close, the proximity more than Kyuhyun could bear at the moment. Fear and panic seized him. It was all he could do not to flee the room at once to put as much distance as he could with this man who had become the bane of his life.

 

Then just as quickly, the moment passed. His pride and self-control reasserted themselves, hastily assembled but at least good enough to serve as passable scaffolding for the moment. 

 

“Yes, perfectly,” Kyuhyun answered in his coldest, haughtiest voice. The other guests, he noticed belatedly, had gone through to the next room, most likely mindful of allowing the engaged couple a moment’s privacy.

 

A frown touched Kijoon’s high, majestic brow. “You don’t have to attend the ball if you feel unwell.”

 

The suggestion scorched him like an insult. “Yes, I do,” Kyuhyun replied icily. “It may come as a surprise to you, but to slight the invitation of a lady after expressing our willingness to attend is an unpardonable insult that equals the worst of manners.”

 

The frown vanished in an instant, replaced by hard, stark lines which Kyuhyun knew all too well from his worst nightmares. “I suppose you are implying that I am not quite up to the mark with your people,” was Kijoon’s sardonic reply.

 

Kyuhyun raised his chin in defiance. “I merely have no wish to delude myself as to the reason why you chose me in the first place.”

 

“Then we understand each other.”

 

“Indeed we do. Therefore there is no need to affect concern for my well-being when no audience is present to demand such a charade.”

 

With that last shot, he turned around, prepared to sweep out of the room and join the others for safety. What he did not expect was to find his progress checked by Kijoon’s iron grip around his wrist.

 

“We will go together.”

 

Kyuhyun nearly lost what little remained of his composure. “There will be endless opportunities for that once we are married,” he managed a tight retort, but any attempt to free his hand was futile. “Unhand me.”

 

“We will go together,” Kijoon repeated, his tone allowing no room for argument, “and that is final.”

 

Kyuhyun swallowed, panic threatening to overwhelm him. A flurry of biting repartees was hovering at the tip of his tongue, and yet his jaw remained locked, unable to move, let alone form a word.

 

“You wish for an audience?” Kijoon continued, his grip tightening to the point of painful that Kyuhyun could not help a small, pained gasp. “Then you shall have an audience. And you will play your part to such perfection that no one will be able to look at you without thinking, oh, how wonderfully happy he is to be engaged to that man, regardless of how unequal a match it is. So now wear your mask, my lord, and _smile_.”

 

It was pride and pride alone which allowed Kyuhyun to remain standing. Even in defeat, he would never let himself be defeated. Instead, he inhaled a deep, shaky breath, and then forced every muscle in his face to relax, little by little, into the slow bloom of a smile. Every stretch and pull, every effort to keep the smile in place was torture, but Kyuhyun refused to admit defeat. Shackled and humiliated as he was, he vowed that he would always be his father’s son. Unbending. Strong. Fearless.

 

A sudden flicker of emotion in Kijoon’s face ended his performance. Kyuhyun quickly switched to his blank, expressionless mask and asked, in a perfectly detached voice, “Do I pass inspection, _sir_?”

 

“It will do for now,” Kijoon told him, his abrupt tone cutting. “Shall we? Your audience is waiting.”

 

Kyuhyun managed to suppress his flinch at the cruel thrust. Almost mechanically, he took Kijoon’s arm and matched his steps. The door swung open. He donned a smile. Somehow, it was easier this second time around. Perhaps one day it would cease to be a source of agony and become simply another unthinking mechanism necessary in life, very much like breathing. After all, practice made perfect.

 

For now, however, he would take all the extra care he needed and smile and smile and smile until he could feel nothing else but the stiff curve of his lips, set into the smile of the happiest man on earth.

 

  
_**End Chapter 4** _

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

> _–that the local government has decided to put this part of the city under quarantine! And—you wouldn’t believe this—no exception allowed. Armed soldiers are stationed at every point of egress that there is simply no question of anyone sneaking out (even if they are perfectly healthy). I am modestly healthy and I HAVE regained most of my natural health, but there is simply no reasoning with these people. They are all terrified of cholera—with good reason, I suppose, but the main problem is they refuse to believe that quarantine is ineffectual, even unnecessary, when it comes to cholera. And before you fly into panic, your best friend is perfectly alright, and so is his father. We are bored to tears shut in this house, but to be honest it is only a matter of time until the quarantine is lifted._
> 
> _What grieves me the most, however, is the fact that I cannot sail back to England in time for your wedding. Yes, for the first time in my life (the slingshot incident of our wayward childhood does not count), I will have to break my word to you. The truth was (had I lived by the virtue of honesty) you would  discover in certain passages of this letter a confession that even without The Quarantine, you would still be in need of another best man since my brute of a doctor REFUSES to release me from his care. (In fact, the man is hovering outside the door as I write this because I am exerting my right as a person of less-than-good health—and therefore less-than-good temper—to decline seeing any member of that profession until they promise not to bring any needle or any like contraption near me ever again, treatment be damned.)_
> 
> _And thus I am expected to stand by silent, as meek as a lamb, as my right is taken away from me! You, who are closest to my heart, will be married in three weeks and I will not be in attendance! Exercise restraint, you say? I have exhausted them a long time ago and now am subsisting in a miserable haze from one bout of ill temper to another. If you open your newspaper tomorrow and discover a scandal from British India i.e. a murder committed by the son of Lord Cavanaugh whose victim is his insufferable physician, you will know precisely why._
> 
> _To return to the topic of your wedding (and my substitute), I beg you please, please choose wisely. Do not, on any account, place your trust on a certain viscount with whom we are unfortunately acquainted. True, the choice is yours, except– wait, the choice should be mine since he is replacing me! In which case, I give you mandate to choose Minho! He will at least know how to behave—and rest assured that a ~~threat~~ letter of ~~warning~~ instruction will soon arrive on his desk to make certain of his good behaviour._
> 
> _As for your choice of life companion, do not think that I have forgiven you, because I have NOT. And I shall not forgive you until I have seen with my own eyes this insolent persona who dares to steal your regards (along with your common sense, I should think; whoever in their right mind tie themselves down at NINETEEN?) If I find him in any way lacking—if I find your judgment in any way faulty (which I very much dread to be the case, considering your previous tastes in men), I swear–_

 

 

The sound of a distant door being shut startled Kyuhyun. He quickly folded the letter that he was reading and slipped it into his pocket. For the next half minute or so, he strained his ears for any sound of approaching footsteps—but none came. It was not yet eight o’clock and the Crewe House was not one to stir before the sun has properly claimed her throne, especially after a busy evening of dancing. The only reason why Kyuhyun was already up and about was because he had excused himself early from the party last night, citing fatigue and an important appointment in the morning.

 

Half an hour ago, he had come downstairs for breakfast and found Changmin’s letter among the day’s correspondence. No one else had come down, and so Kyuhyun decided to retreat into the library with the letter and a cup of coffee for relative privacy.

 

As he had feared, bad news was waiting for him between the long, rambling passages scribbled inside. Changmin had originally planned to start his journey home two days ago—a plan which he had not been able to realise due to circumstances outside his powers. Any delay in the plan, however, would mean that he might not arrive in time to perform his duty as the best man.

 

Kyuhyun swallowed as he tried to process the implication in full. He could not. The disappointment was too great. And the thought of facing the wedding without Changmin was unbearable.

 

He could not.

 

His decision was made in a flash. Kyuhyun did not allow himself a moment’s hesitation. In less than a minute, he had fetched his coat and cane and stepped out of the house into a bright London morning. It might still be too early for a social call, even to one’s fiancé, but he could not risk lingering in the house and facing his parents or siblings before he could get the matter settled. Even now, the letter burned in his pocket, demanding him to go and do something.

 

He would ask Kijoon to postpone the wedding.

 

A selfish, unwise decision from any angle; and it certainly would cause a lot of troubles for everyone involved, but Kyuhyun simply saw no other way. To marry without Changmin, without the other half of his soul, was unthinkable. A postponement was the only solution.

 

Besides, it was not as if there was any danger of his changing his mind. The marriage would definitely take place. Only later.

 

To pass the time (and perhaps also to postpone the unpleasant confrontation while he gathered his scattered courage), he joined the crowd of early strollers at Hyde Park, blending among the milling groups whose sole objective was to socialise. Kyuhyun took care to greet every passing acquaintance with a smile and a nod, but kept his pace quick enough to discourage any offer for company. His new status was certainly a veritable aid in this matter. Without the ring now resting on his right ring finger, his wish to be alone would not have been so universally accepted.

 

“Kyuhyun!”

 

Or perhaps not as universally as he had thought. Kyuhyun summoned a stiff, formal smile before turning around to return the greeting—and stopped short in surprise.

 

“Sir Gunmyung.”

 

“Lord Kyuhyun, then,” was the amused reply. “Please, can we dispense with this title nonsense? We know each other too well for that.”

 

Another smile settled uncomfortably across Kyuhyun’s lips. The discovery of his old letters—and its repercussions—still weighed heavily on his mind, shadowing even his smallest actions. In front of the man himself, it was doubly so. It was regrettable, truly, for he and Gunmyung always had the easiest relationship before, even after they had decided to draw the curtain over their little chapter. Sir Gunmyung’s good humour and happy manners had ensured that nothing less than a firm friendship would bind them for eternity.

 

It was somewhat different now. Deep down, perhaps he did hold Gunmyung to blame for his current predicament, and the realisation caused enough shame and guilt that Kyuhyun was compelled to make an even greater effort to be pleasant.

 

“I didn’t know that you were in town,” he tried again in a more cheerful tone.

 

“Not surprising, since I just arrived but three days ago,” Gunmyung pointed out as they fell into steps with each other. “You are out and about very early.”

 

“So are you.”

 

Gunmyung laughed. “I’m on my way to a breakfast invitation. Perhaps you too, by any chance?”

 

“No, not today.” The answer had left Kyuhyun’s mouth before he could invent a plausible explanation. Gunmyung’s expectant silence, however, gave him no choice but to snatch the first to cross his mind. “I just… I feel like taking a morning walk today,” he added a little haltingly, a blush rising at the obvious lie.

 

But the older man accepted it without further inquiry. “I see,” he replied instead, and there was a world of understanding in those two words. The sight of it both relieved and pained Kyuhyun, for he could not help but compare their easy understanding to the countless thorns which filled everything between him and his future husband. With Gunmyung, it was only too easy to feel happy and comfortable.

 

“Is your good lady not with you?” Kyuhyun changed the subject yet again, this time with a more genuine smile.

 

“Sadly, no.” The answer came with a regretful sigh. “She prefers spending the summer at the countryside, with our new-born daughter. I myself am only in town on matters of business, just for a week or so.”

 

Kyuhyun nodded and made some remarks about the atrocity of London’s air and its dangers to the delicate constitution of small children, let alone a baby. It was some time before he noticed the amused look on Gunmyung’s face.

 

“I don’t think I have offered my congratulations,” he said with a grin, “on your upcoming marriage.”

 

“Thank you.” Kyuhyun smiled; any taste of bitterness was almost lost on him now. “I suppose it’s about time.”

 

“Is it?” The older man looked surprised. “You are not yet twenty. I cannot imagine what would persuade you to marry at such a young age—except, of course, a very deep love.”

 

Kyuhyun’s smile stiffened into a tense one. “Twenty is not so young, and certainly not as young as I was,” he hastily explained—perhaps a tad too hastily, for a blush soon exploded in his cheeks as other possible meanings came to his mind. “I do not mean… I mean…”

 

“Do not distress yourself.” Gunmyung’s voice was kindly save for the gentlest hint of teasing. “I understand perfectly what you meant.”

 

“I’m glad,” Kyuhyun murmured with an embarrassed smile. The last impression he wanted to convey was that he had been deliberately flirting.

 

Then he saw it.

 

A face in the crowd, looking at their direction through a pair of narrowed eyes. His heart went cold as recognition followed, spelling his doom as clearly as the sun above. Before he could verify the accuracy of his sight, however, the face had disappeared behind a passing group of young ladies and their colourful umbrellas.

 

Kyuhyun stood frozen as the full implication of the incident struck him dumb. _He_ had seen him, engaged in a private conversation with Sir Gunmyung. Any dark conjecture which followed afterward would only be natural, wrong as it was.

 

“Kyuhyun?”

 

It took him a moment to realise that he had stopped walking—or that Gunmyung was still his company. “Oh, my apologies.” He recovered himself quickly enough, although the effort to put a smile on his face was almost too much. Then again, the last three months had been a strict regime of endless, rigorous practice if nothing else. “I thought I saw someone I knew. Won’t you be late for your breakfast invitation? Please, don’t let me detain you.”

 

“Well, then.” Gunmyung’s smile still held a measure of concern, but the man knew better than to push him further. “I am leaving for Hertfordshire the day after tomorrow, but I look forward to seeing you again at your wedding. Once more, congratulations.”

 

“Thank you.” Kyuhyun listened to the polite, cheerful reply as if it had come from someone else's throat. His mind was entirely mired in one thought, and no sooner had they parted than Kyuhyun turned his feet to the direction of Leighton House.

 

 

.

 

 

Half an hour later saw him standing self-consciously in the busy headquarters of the Maximillian Line.

 

Kyuhyun had called at Leighton House only to find Kijoon already gone—to the office, according to his butler. After long minutes of uncertain deliberations, he had finally made the reluctant decision of venturing into the business district of London.

 

In the course of their fifteen-month acquaintance, Kyuhyun had never once set foot inside the building. What knowledge he possessed of his fiancé’s business was hazy at best, mere morsels gleaned from light, casual conversations at dinner parties, where any mention of monetary or financial nature was mainly deemed inappropriate, even distasteful. Consequently, Kyuhyun knew little outside the general knowledge of his owning one of the largest shipping companies at this side of the Atlantic.

 

The process of announcing his identity to a front desk clerk was already painful enough. The shock and awe which flooded the young man’s face upon hearing his name and title was worse—but before the embarrassing awkwardness could descend into more excruciating depths, Kyuhyun was fortunately rescued by the chance appearance of Kijoon’s secretary, whom he had met in a few previous occasions.

 

Min Youngki was a man of average stature and friendly disposition. His manner was polite and yet, to Kyuhyun’s relief, not obsequiously so, as was wont to be found in a man of his occupation. A warm, kindly smile lit up his face, but unfortunately it did little to soothe Kyuhyun’s nerves as he was conducted to a comfortable room to wait. His employer, Youngki explained apologetically, was in a meeting, but he would be notified at once of his lordship’s presence—to which Kyuhyun quickly responded as unnecessary, as he did not mind waiting and no, it was no trouble at all.

 

The waiting, however, soon proved to be a trial. With only his thoughts as company, he had little choice but to entertain them, often the darkest of the lot. His only surcease from these miserable conjectures took place when Youngki entered with tea and refreshments, along with an assurance that Kyuhyun would not have to wait too long now. He soon departed again and Kyuhyun sank into another spell of restless gloom until another interruption came, this time finally in the shape of the long-awaited fiancé.

 

“Well, this is a surprise.”

 

The sarcastic drawl hardened every wisp of anxiety in Kyuhyun into ice. It was astonishing how swiftly the walls of his defences rose in front of this man. He found himself sitting upright, shoulders drawn back and chin raised to a haughty angle, prepared to face the bane of his life.

 

“There is an urgent matter which I need to discuss.” Even his voice was a flawless example of superiority. “Else, I would never come here.”

 

“Obviously.” The careless murmur was another whiplash, but Kyuhyun refused to flinch. For a moment, no one spoke as Kijoon headed for the window and took out a cigarette from a silver case. “Pray, proceed.”

 

The opportunity was given, however ungenerously, and Kyuhyun took a deep breath before launching into his carefully prepared speech. “A letter arrived this morning,” he began formally, “from my cousin and good friend, Shim Changmin. As you probably know, he is to be my best man. That is, I have asked him to be my best man in our correspondence and he has given a positive answer. He was to sail home two days ago, but as it happened, circumstances out of his power forced him to delay his return.”

 

Kyuhyun paused. Not a single encouraging response came from the other man, verbal or otherwise, so he steeled himself before resuming. “I come here to ask you for a postponement. For the wedding. A few weeks will be sufficient—just until he arrives. Of course this will cause a degree of inconvenience for everyone, but nothing, I hope, too significant. And I can promise that any difficulty which might arise from this modification will be taken care of with very little nuisance to you.”

 

Cold silence followed the conclusion of his speech. There was no alteration in Kijoon’s closed expression; in fact, the man barely glanced at his direction and spent the length of the explanation looking out the window instead. Ghostly wisps of smoke curled up to the ceiling from the end of his cigarette as the silence continued, unbroken. Kyuhyun had no choice but to wait, now more nervous than ever despite his stubborn mask of calm.

 

“Let me see if I understand correctly,” Kijoon suddenly spoke, turning around to face him. “You wish to postpone our wedding—and therefore waste the thousands of pounds which have gone into the preparations—in order to accommodate your cousin who was delayed by circumstances allegedly out of his power?”

 

Kyuhyun could not help but frown at the mention of money (what a crude, ill-bred manner!) but refused to let his disgust throw him off. “He is to be my best man,” he repeated coldly.

 

“And apparently you lack any other friend in England to fill the office in question.”

 

“Only he is to be my best man, and no other.”

 

Kijoon’s lips curled into an unpleasant smile. “Such a special treatment, undoubtedly reserved for a special person. I wonder why you did not choose to marry him.”

 

“Clearly because I have no say in the matter.” Now he could only feel fury, a dark consuming fire in his chest, in his throat, on his tongue. “Were it to be my choice, he would certainly be the person I marry in this lifetime.”

 

The ensuing silence was deafening. Kyuhyun stood frozen where he was, painfully aware that he had overstepped a line somewhere, invisible yet fatal; however, now that the words had left his mouth, his only remaining choice was to stand his ground and assume an air of indignant righteousness.

 

It was a long time before Kijoon finally broke his silence. “You made a choice,” he said, his voice strangely calm, almost aloof.

 

“Between my family's ruin and a lifetime of misery, yes I did.”

 

“Yes, you did.” Hardness leapt into his expression, the same cold cutting steel which had destroyed Kyuhyun’s heart, time and again. “Which you will do well to remember. You chose _misery_ , and so you will have it. The wedding is to proceed as it is. You can pick one of your other close friends or cousins to be your best man or I will furnish you with one. Again, the choice is yours.”

 

Kyuhyun turned abruptly toward the door and escaped from the suffocating room before his composure could crumble completely. Tears sprang in his eyes, but he would let not one of them fall, not while he was still in public, no matter how cruel the words had been or how deeply they had hurt him.

 

In his pocket, the letter still burned, ever a reminder of what could have been.

 

 

 

 

> _As for your choice of life companion, do not think that I have forgiven you, because I have NOT. And I shall not forgive you until I have seen with my own eyes this insolent persona who dares to steal your regards (along with your common sense, I should think; whoever in their right mind tie themselves down at NINETEEN?) If I find him in any way lacking—if I find your judgment in any way faulty (which I very much dread to be the case, considering your previous tastes in men), I swear I will personally see to it that this so-called marriage meets an early demise. I care nothing about society's narrow-minded opinion on divorce. We never belong to the masses anyway. We are always something more, have always been, and will always be._
> 
> _For no amount of reputation is worth a lifetime of suffering. For I fully intend to keep my most important promise to you, and that is to ensure your happiness one way or another, as you have ensured _for years_ and years the happiness of a certain lonely, motherless boy under your father's roof . My prayers are always with you , my other half, for there is no one else in this earth who wishes for your happiness more than I do._
> 
> _Yours and forever yours,_
> 
> _Shim Chwang_

 

 

_**End Chapter 5** _

 


	6. Chapter 6

"People would think that you're about to send me to a funeral instead of a wedding."

 

"Forgive me, my lord," Jonghyun's reply was all deference and contrition. "I didn't mean to cast a gloom on such an important day."

 

"And still you hope that I would be the only one who noticed," Kyuhyun sighed, referring to Jonghyun's hard set of jaws and grim mouth. Any attempt to lighten up was obviously perfunctory, not to mention minimal. In fact, Kyuhyun very much suspected that Jonghyun wished for _everyone_ to notice instead, including the man his master was about to marry.

 

"You have yet to get used to Sir Kijoon, I see," he probed again.

 

"I think, my lord, the more appropriate question is: have you?"

 

Meeting his valet's eyes in the mirror, Kyuhyun swallowed the bile of shame rising in the back of his throat. He admittedly hadn't been the best actor in the whole matter, but to the point that even his own servant had felt the need to raise such concern...

 

"Of course it is not my place to say, my lord," Jonghyun hurriedly apologised while fixing his waistcoat. "And regarding your question, it definitely won't be an issue." After he finished helping Kyuhyun put on his suit, Jonghyun bowed and smiled. "I serve you, not him."

 

For some reason, the smile put him at ease, even if it was just a little. Jonghyun was an element that would remain unchanged in his new life, a familiar face in an unknown household. "I don't know what I've done to deserve your loyalty, but for that, I thank you," Kyuhyun said, and he meant every word.

 

"It is an honor to serve you, my lord," Jonghyun declared solemnly, bowing once more before gesturing toward the mirror.

 

"Well then." Kyuhyun looked at his reflection one final time. His suit was made of the best material from Paris, tailored to perfection to fit his frame with no spare inch. A smile would certainly complement his looks, but try as he might, he just couldn't fake it. Because what he saw was a young man who had prided himself with going by his own rules all his life, but whose one mistake had put him under the mercy of an ambitious man who would do anything to get what he wanted. Including forcing Kyuhyun into a wedding built upon blackmailing schemes and forced opportunities.

 

"Looks like I'm ready," Kyuhyun said, even though he was anything but.

 

Jonghyun said nothing, but he opened the door nonetheless.

  


-

  


Kyuhyun tried his best to play his part flawlessly afterwards, allowing no crack in his performance for suspicion. He smiled radiantly at his father, his mother, his sisters and his dear brother Eric, who offered no smile in return and remained stonily silent. He beamed at Minho, his best man, while missing Changmin terribly, and maintained the jubilant expression even as he faced the man standing in front of the altar, the one who seemed fully intent on making Kyuhyun unhappy (and yet, unhappily, also the man who caused his treacherous heart to skip a beat at the mere sight of him).

 

He delivered his vows perfectly, accepted his _husband’s_ kiss obligingly, and powered through the wedding breakfast by sheer strength of will to not be _defeated_ by said husband.

 

By the time the seemingly endless stream of guests who eagerly delivered their blessings and congratulations dwindled down, however, weariness began to crept on Kyuhyun. Predictably, that was when his new husband decided to turn the day even worse.

 

“I’m surprised,” Kijoon began, hiding the movements of his lips behind a glass of wine. “Sir Gunmyung appeared to be holding himself up quite well. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t expect him to attend at all.”

 

“Sir Gunmyung is a business partner and close friend of my father. Why wouldn’t he attend his son’s wedding?”

 

“Perhaps because the son in question is also his beloved, and now he is wedded to someone else?”

 

Kyuhyun nearly lost his control right there and then. He reeled his anger back in, turned away, and pretended to be interested in whatever tiny commotion caused by Minho and his other school friends at another side of the room. “What nonsense,” Kyuhyun whispered shakily. “You know it was all in the past.”

 

“Do I?” There was no mistaking the sarcasm in Kijoon's tone. “Did I see wrongly then, that a certain lovers’ rendezvous had taken place in London just before you demanded the wedding to be postponed? What a coincidence, don't you think?”

 

It suddenly dawned on him. So it was indeed Kijoon he had seen among the crowd back then. Kijoon _had_ witnessed his chance encounter with Sir Gunmyung, although Kyuhyun knew the man must’ve thought that it had been anything but accidental. The fact that Kijoon also mentioned his request for postponement must mean that he thought it had something to do with the encounter—

 

“For your entire act on showing disdain for gossip, Sir Kijoon,” Kyuhyun said with as much venom as he could muster, “you are one very active participant, creating one without even considering verifying the truth.”  

 

A pause, and then, “Those whom I could ask wouldn’t necessarily offer the truth, would they?”

 

Kyuhyun turned back around and smiled at Kijoon as if he was about to declare his love and happiness (while enjoying a sliver of victory from the subtle irritation on the other man’s face). “If that is your belief, then no wonder that even your marriage is a lie.”

 

And that was the last thing said between them for the rest of the day.

 

_**End Chapter 6** _


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

 

 

Kyuhyun woke up with the waves’ gentle murmur in his ears.

 

The sun had just risen, lending degrees of half-light past the drawn curtains. The hotel room, his luxurious home for almost a week now, was still cloaked in shadows, and so it would remain for the next half an hour or so. He did not stir, content to linger in the pleasantly blank threshold of consciousness, until shafts of light drew patterns on the marble floor. Only then did he sigh and allow the first stream of weighty recollections to pour in.

 

Another day had dawned in Venice; another empty stretch of bleak hours and half-hearted pretence, waiting to be filled with nothing. Kyuhyun could already feel the shadow of a frown on his temple as his mind grappled with memories and arithmetic, counting the number of days until he would once more return to England.

 

It had been sixteen days since his wedding. Only a little over two weeks and yet he felt like he had lived in this gilded cage for years.

 

Sighing impatiently at himself, Kyuhyun rose from the bed and came to the windows. The sparkling blue of the canal greeted his eyes, and in the distance, St. Mark’s Basilica towered majestically over a bustling city. Even now, the beauty of the sight never failed to bring a smile to his lips and lift his spirits.

 

But with the reprieve came the intruder, an endless dance. Like a predator catching a scent of blood, another dark thought approached, casting a shadow to all prospects of beauty and enjoyment. His circumstances, it reminded him silkily, remained unchanged—and would remain so for the rest of his life.

 

He was trapped.

 

Frowning, Kyuhyun pushed the grim thought away and flung the windows open, welcoming the salt-tinged air with a deep breath. A pleasing scent drifted from a flowerbox under his window, making him feel more cheerful at once. Bad luck was one thing, past follies yet another, but to surrender could only mean one thing, and it was simply never in his nature to freely accept defeat.

 

He had entered this marriage with his eyes wide open. The past two weeks had shown him that while happiness might forever be out of his reach, the wedded state itself was at least not unbearable, especially if he took care not to reflect on it too much. His choice of spouse aside, there was absolutely no reason to continue shrouding his life in gloom.

 

Their separate bedrooms were another cause for blessing. Kyuhyun had to confess himself beyond glad when he had learned about the arrangement. Odd as it was for newlyweds on a honeymoon trip to sleep in separate rooms, no one so much as batted an eyelash at this request. The hotel staff, a first-class ensemble of flawless servants, knew better than to display anything short of competence and absolute deference to guests of their distinction.

 

Yet another blessing was the fact that his ‘husband’ seemed quite content to claim the title in name only. So far in the course of their so-called honeymoon, Kijoon had made no attempt to touch him more than strictly necessary. Kyuhyun’s relief was indescribable. He had not allowed himself much conjecture on the subject before the wedding, but this turn of events was in no way objectionable.

 

As his mother had often said: thank God for small blessings.

 

The room was already bathed in golden light when Jonghyun came in with his morning tea. By then, Kyuhyun had made up his mind to reclaim his good temper. Soon he found himself chattering good-naturedly as Jonghyun began their morning routines.

 

“I think I will join the other guests downstairs for breakfast today,” Kyuhyun declared after shaving. The lavender-scented water was something new, an agreeable alternative to the lemon and cedar he used back home. “It’s too fine a day to be wasted indoors. And I’m honestly sick of eating breakfast alone in my room.”

 

Jonghyun’s hand stilled for a moment, but he quickly recovered his poise and murmured, “An excellent idea, my lord. The breakfast selection will also be more diverse downstairs—quite first-rate, I heard, of both the English and Continental variety.” He paused, and then continued in a softer voice, “And there is nothing in your lordship’s itinerary today, should anything interesting arise.”

 

The prospect of good food and a day free of his husband was enough to brighten Kyuhyun’s mood considerably, but it was the lure of a proper conversation which made his decision. Ever since they had left England, he had pretty much kept to himself. The mere idea of having to explain his presence there as a newlywed was enough to discourage him from mingling with other tourists.

 

Paris with its whirlwind of activities had been a veritable trial. The brilliant opulence of a social metropolis in the height of Season had passed him by pretty much unheeded. So soon after the wedding ceremony, so recently introduced to the bitter facts of his new, harrowing life, Kyuhyun’s entire focus had been entirely sunk in the ordeal of surviving each day.

 

Kijoon, unsurprisingly, had barely acknowledged his presence. Most of their communication had been conducted through their valets, which suited Kyuhyun just fine. He had no wish to bumble through an awkward exchange only to discuss their perfunctory plan for the day, be it a visit to another palace, another museum, another park, or an invitation to yet another play.

 

Venice, however, proved to be more successful. There was a sedate quality to the city’s visage, in the graceful arc of bridges spanning across its water veins, the profusion of narrow lanes and sun-warmed piazzas, the slow sway of a gondola as it travelled serenely down a canal, which soothed his troubled soul. Even Kijoon was not quite unaffected. His silence turned more subdued, pensive, and if he had yet let go of the pretence of ignoring his newly-wedded spouse, then it at least no longer chafed the way it had.

 

Or perhaps they had simply gotten used to the way things were.

 

Kyuhyun made his way down as soon as he was ready, dressed in a brand new white suit— _yet_ another item from his extensive wedding trousseau. He liked his hotel. It was a relatively small yet elegant establishment, tucked away in a separate island with every consideration of comfort and privacy in mind. Away from the hustle and bustle of St. Mark’s square, the distance proved more a blessing than a nuisance, as Kyuhyun had discovered in the last five days, as well as the size and the type of guests it attracted. Most preferred to stay behind a screen of anonymity and any social intercourse was usually of very limited and generic variety. In short, nothing could suit him better.

 

Breakfast was served in a sunlit terrace with an open view to the blue, sparkling canal. The scent of fresh bread and strong cappuccino greeted him upon arrival and Kyuhyun could not help but smile in contentment. Even the thought of Kijoon failed to daunt him much in such a setting. A fulfilling breakfast, a decent conversation, and he would be able to face the day come what may.

 

This faith persisted exactly until he saw the man himself. Seated at a corner table, with a newspaper spread in front of him, was no other than his husband.

 

Kyuhyun had yet to get over his surprise when Kijoon suddenly looked up and raised an eyebrow at his appearance. Cursing silently at his bad luck, Kyuhyun donned his usual set of armour, now with considerably more ease after so much practice. He had no choice but to make his way to the table, but he was careful to hold his head high and keep his face expressionless, showing not one chink in his defence.

 

“This is a surprise,” Kijoon said upon his approach, eyes appraising.

 

“Likewise,” Kyuhyun replied icily, using his most haughty tone. “I was hoping for a change, but it is not to be a pleasant one, I see.”

 

The quality of Kijoon’s smirk sharpened, until it was less an expression and more the edge of a knife. “You will not allow mere unpleasantness to defeat you, surely.”

 

“Of course not,” Kyuhyun retorted brusquely, ready to take arms and fall into their usual thrust-parry-riposte routine when a waiter arrived just in time to prevent another battle. He made sure to flash the Italian man a brilliant smile after he had helped him into a seat, but Kijoon, to his annoyance, had returned to his reading material.

 

The next half an hour or so was spent in silence as he nibbled on rolls and fruits and slices of cheese. Kijoon, on the other hand, seemed content to continue ignoring Kyuhyun and barely looked up from his newspaper. It made a very desolate meal and Kyuhyun was left staring at his food or watching the coming and goings of other guests, who all seemed to be very much happier than he was. The silence was a shackle, far worse than the wedding ring circling his left ring finger.

 

“Is there anything in particular that you wish to do today?”

 

The question startled him out of his sullen, meandering thoughts. For a moment, Kyuhyun only stared, uncomprehending, until a faint frown came to Kijoon’s brow and snapped him out of his daze.

 

“No,” the answer rolled off his mouth before he could stop it. “Nothing in particular.”

 

“There is a performance of _La Boheme_ at the Opera House this evening, and I heard it was quite decent.” Kijoon paused, eyes on him. Kyuhyun would always recognise an offer when he heard one, but he let the words hung between them, unacknowledged. Another night of public charade was not exactly what he had planned.

 

A look crossed Kijoon’s face, somewhere between irritation and amusement. “I already made our reservation. Unless you have something else in mind?”

 

Kyuhyun resisted an urge to scowl, but was not sure that he had succeeded completely. “Then why pretend asking me if you already made a reservation?”

 

The amusement bloomed into a full smirk. “Because it amuses me,” Kijoon declared, rising to his feet. “Very well then, I will meet you later at six.”

 

Kyuhyun refused to grace it with a response. He remained where he was, staring at the blue sparkling canal despite the glare in his eyes. It was not until five minutes had passed that he allowed himself a small sigh—relieved now that he was again alone, yet also angry at these small but cruel jokes which Kijoon seemed to insist on playing on his expense.

 

The meeting had ruined his mood. Even the beautiful day seemed to have lost its spell over him as Kyuhyun sat there, at the best table in the terrace, aimlessly stirring his tea and declining offers for more food from cheerful waiters. Any plan to enjoy the day which had vaguely formed in his mind earlier had by now lost their lustre, for they would all end with the same trial at the Opera House.

 

Immersed in this dismal prospect, it was a moment before Kyuhyun realised that a young gentleman had appeared on his left, and then began to talk to him about the weather.

 

Kyuhyun stared at him in puzzlement, half wondering if the person might have mistaken him for someone else. Catching his gaze, a warm, apologetic smile appeared on the stranger’s face.

 

“A thousand apologies.” The voice was pleasant, distinctively English but with a melodious lilt of the local dialect. “My excitement at hearing my mother tongue after so long is too great. And the weather is always a respectable subject to open a conversation, no? Especially one so fine in _la bella Venezia_?”

 

Kyuhyun could not help but smile, deep-seated manners winning over personal grievances at the moment, and offered the man a seat.

 

“Have you left England long, sir?”

 

“A year almost to the day,” the stranger replied promptly, taking the chair Kijoon had vacated earlier. “I took up residence in Florence for the first six months and spent the rest gallivanting about. The paintings do not lie. Even a year is not enough to drink all the beauty and delights in this country to my heart’s content.”

 

“I’m inclined to agree.” The reply came to his lips easily, years of training for social scenes proving themselves. “You are a student of the art?”

 

“The word 'student' indicates dedication and diligent pursue of the skill,” the man said with a laugh. “I am, sadly, a mere fascinated connoisseur. An easily distracted one too. In the course of one year, I have learned more of the country’s history and culture than the high art.”

 

Kyuhyun managed another smile, more effortlessly this time. “Then you must be a reliable guide.”

 

“You may ask me anything and I shall endeavour to answer.”

 

Kyuhyun startled himself with a laugh, small and brief as it was. He did not remember the last time he had laughed, or blushed from pleasure, since the quiet admiration in the other man’s eyes now caused heat to rise to his cheeks. For the first time in weeks, he finally felt more like himself instead of a pale, miserable imitation.

 

“But I am no expert. I have no way to confirm the verity of your answer.”

 

“Bah, verity.” An impatient wave of hand, so exaggerated that Kyuhyun was tempted for another laugh. “Why must we put so much importance on truth? As long as an answer is amusing, then it is a good answer.”

 

He nodded, beginning to enjoy himself. “Since I am on vacation, I will gladly accept amusing answers.”

 

“Then you are in good hand, for I’m an expert on all things amusing,” the other man declared. “Unfortunately, the connoisseur part of me will forever be present and a connoisseur never fails to appreciate beauty wherever he goes. I hope you will not consider it untoward if I borrow the words of our illustrious Mr Shakespeare, for I ne'er saw true beauty till this—shall we say—moment.”

 

Kyuhyun accepted the compliment with an open smile. It was surprising how good a small, genuine praise could make him feel, while back in England, he had barely paid them any notice. The next few minutes were spent in a lively banter, sprinkled with casual, harmless flirting as they discussed various tourist spots in the country in exchange for some news on _dear old England_.

 

“Perhaps you would care to introduce your new friend?”

 

The new voice cut into their lively conversation like an icy blade. Kyuhyun froze. He did not need to turn around to know that his husband was standing behind him. And when the quietly ominous words were followed by a hand resting on his shoulder, it was all Kyuhyun could do not to flinch.

 

He made the introduction stiffly. The other man’s smile had lost a little of its brilliance, and Kyuhyun noticed a quick glance to his left hand, which he had unconsciously kept under the table throughout the conversation. Shame burned in him and fear slithered like ice down his spine as Kijoon made his own small talks, never once removing his hand from Kyuhyun’s shoulder.

 

“I was just saying,” his new acquaintance spoke with forced cheerfulness, “a friend of mine is arranging a wine tour along the Prosecco Road. We still have a few spots open, so perhaps you—both of you—would care to join us?”

 

“What do you think, Kyuhyun?” The question was spoken softly, all attentive gentleness concealing something much more sinister underneath. Kyuhyun already knew his answer before Kijoon had even asked.

 

“I think…” He swallowed, struggling for composure. “I don’t think I feel well enough to go sightseeing today.”

 

“You should have told me.” Again, the tender concern, filling his senses of mockeries of what might have been—of his most ridiculous, most pathetic daydreams. For the thousandth time, Kyuhyun cursed his treacherous heart for still hoping, wishing, _deluding_ itself with figments of fantasies.

 

“I’m fine, I just need to–” He looked up, flashing a smile at the general direction of his new friend, soon to be complete stranger once more. “I think I’ll go back to my room. It’s nice to make your acquaintance.”

 

Kyuhyun rose to his feet, shrugging Kijoon’s hand off in the process, and left the table as quickly as he could. The last thing he wanted to see was pity in a stranger’s eyes—and triumph in his husband’s.

 

_**End** _

 


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